


A Beautiful Soul

by allstring



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allstring/pseuds/allstring
Summary: As the new patron of the Palais Garnier, Raoul de Chagny has heard the rumors of a fearsome Phantom that lurks in the dark corners of the opera house. Determined to find this specter, he ventures down to the dungeon, ready to confront this Phantom. Instead of finding a demon, however, he finds something rather different; an angel.





	A Beautiful Soul

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing these two, so apologies if the characterization is a little off! This takes place after Raoul becomes the patron of the opera house, but before Christine is cast as the lead soprano.

Raoul de Chagny crept through the darkness of the basement of the Palais Garnier, the hand holding his lantern kept steadily at the level of his eyes. Though the lantern shone fiercely, the darkness seemed to swallow it whole mere feet from the Vicomte. This was, he had long ago surmised, no ordinary darkness.

A sudden noise rang out, and Raoul jumped, lantern casting frightening shadows on the wall. He stopped, heart pounding against his ribcage. Another sound rang out, and Raoul recognized it as that of a church organ. But certainly that was impossible; even if there were an organ stored down here, it would have to have someone at the bellows to produce a sound. There was no doubt in the Vicomte’s mind that the Phantom was real, but he highly doubted that anyone, man or phantom, could simultaneously play the organ and supply it with air.

He started moving once more, steps a little quicker, the sound of his approach obscured by the grandiose song of the organ. It had begun very loudly, then dropped off to a low, murmuring undercurrent of notes, like a fast-flowing river that contained deadly currents beneath its seemingly calm surface. The song tugged at Raoul’s heart, distracting him from the darkness that pressed in on every side.

At last, he came to a boat that sat on the edge of a vast underground lake. The organ rang out from a distance, beckoning him ever closer. He stepped into the boat and pushed off, using the long paddle to guide himself towards the music. As he glided through the eerie stillness, he noticed flickering lights in the distance, their reflections like fairies dancing on the water. Raoul blew out his lantern, keeping his eyes fixed on the steadily growing source of light.

The song hit a dramatic high note, but there was no triumph in it, only pain. Raoul nearly dropped to his knees with the force of it; if this truly was the Phantom playing, then he was an absolute musical genius. He pressed on, feeling the bottom of the boat beginning to scrape against some kind of shore. He abandoned the paddle and let the boat slide up to dry land, sitting down in the boat to simply listen.

The song was drawing to a forlorn close, dwindling down to almost nothing before ending with a single chord played so loudly that the water rippled and the boat shook. Raoul himself was shaken as well, to his very core in fact. In all his days, he had never been privileged to be witness to something so beautiful, so personal.

He rose slowly, hearing the pedals on the organ rise to their original positions. A bench was pushed back, someone stood. Raoul walked ponderously towards the noise, thinking that, if this was indeed the Phantom playing, then he could not be evil. How could evil stir his soul like this? He rounded a corner, and, as his eyes adjusted to the flickering candlelight, made out a tall, black figure gathering sheet music. He watched as the figure crumpled the music and held it to the nearest candle. Before he could stop himself, Raoul leaped from his hiding place.

“No, stop!” The figure froze, dropping the burning music, before rushing forward to pin the Vicomte against the wall.

“I did not realize I had a visitor. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Please do keep it brief, I hate long-winded speeches.” Raoul gulped, regaining the wind that had been knocked out of him.

“Are you the Phantom?” The man grinned, and Raoul noted the light glinting off a strange mask covering half the man’s face.

“The Phantom of the Opera, the Angel of Music, the Red Death, that cloaked bastard... I have many names. What is yours?”

“Raoul de Chagny, the new-”

“The new patron of the opera house,” the Phantom completed, drawing a strange rope from under his robe. Raoul eyed it cautiously before returning his gaze to the Phantom.

“Why did you burn your music? It was absolutely incredible.” The Phantom scoffed, running the rope through his gloved hands.

“If you thought that was incredible, monsieur, then you are more hopeless than I realized.”

“You’re being too critical of yourself,” Raoul continued. He knew that he should be trying to escape, but something about the dark man drew him in. Inexplicable though it was, Raoul could not ignore it. “Have you ever performed it for anyone else?”

“Oh yes,” the Phantom smirked, showing a hint of teeth. “Here they all are.” He motioned to a pile of skulls that lined a shelf on a nearby wall. Raoul gulped again, squirming away from the Phantom. “Why so anxious, Vicomte? Don’t you want to hear another piece?” Raoul made as though to grab the rope, and the Phantom pinned him to the ground with alarming speed.

Raoul twisted under the Phantom’s unyielding grip, pushing feebly against the arm that was being pressed against his throat.

“Well, Vicomte, have you seen what you came to see? Heard what you came to hear? Very good. I’m afraid we must part now; say hello to Saint Peter for me, if you see him.” He removed his hand, and Raoul barely had time to massage his sore throat before the rope was tightened around it. As the Phantom began to lift him, all Raoul could see was his piercing yellow eyes. They bore into his soul like molten lava through rock. They were the saddest eyes the Vicomte had ever seen.

“You have amazing eyes,” he managed to choke out. The Phantom stopped dead, dropping Raoul onto the cold, wet floor. Raoul loosened the noose, coughing and hacking.

“What on earth did you just say to me?”

“Your eyes, they’re incredible. I can see right into your soul.” The Phantom practically growled, leaning down and putting a boot on Raoul’s chest.

“My soul? I’m afraid you are mistaken, monsieur,” he spat, every word dripping with malice and contempt. “I have none.”

“No man without a soul could have played such beautiful music.” The Phantom withdrew his foot, turning around. Raoul sat, propping himself up against the wall, waiting for whatever reaction came next. The Phantom whirled around, eyes alight with yellow fire.

“Are you so sure that I am a man?” Raoul looked quizzical.

“What else could you be?” The Phantom chuckled dryly, running a thumb along the edge of his mask.

“Something best kept in the dark.” Raoul attempted to rise, wincing when a sharp pain shot through his abdomen. He sank back to the dank floor, hand massaging his side.

“Are you going to let me go?” The Phantom looked down at the Vicomte, neck red from his brush with strangulation, eyes full of childlike hope. Without a word, the Phantom dragged Raoul to his feet, pushing him in the direction of the boat. Raoul staggered, regained his footing, and turned around.

Just as the Phantom was about to pull out his lasso again for emphasis, the Vicomte darted close, grabbing his mask and pulling it off in a single fluid motion. The Phantom roared in rage, instantly covering his exposed skin with a hand. Raoul dropped the mask, and the noise it made hitting the ground echoed throughout the cavernous chamber. The Phantom snarled, grabbing Raoul by the neck and hoisting him into the air. Raoul dangled from his iron grip, legs and arms flailing uselessly.

“Foolish boy! Idiot! I was going to let you go!” He removed his hand to bring it to the Vicomte’s neck, intending to snap it with one violent motion. Instead, he watched Raoul’s mouth grow slack and his eyes wide. “Yes, look upon my monstrous visage! Tremble in fear at the demon before you! Do you still think me a man?”

Raoul raised his arm weakly, bringing his hand to the deformity that marred half of the Phantom’s face. He rubbed his thumb across the wrinkled skin, feeling the rubbery texture. The Phantom gasped, dropping Raoul once again. As soon as the Vicomte hit the floor, the darkness that had been pressing against him finally drew in, swirling into his eyes and obscuring his vision.

 

\---

 

Raoul awoke to unfamiliar aches and pains stiffening his limbs. He rubbed his neck, wincing as his hand made contact with the raw skin. He looked around, noticing that he was no longer on the cold floor of the basement, but on a bed of some kind, surrounded by a black veil. He could hear the same strains of organ music that had lured him in not so long before - but how long had it really been? Raoul stood, groaning as his side throbbed with pain. He had almost certainly broken a rib.

As he walked slowly toward the organ, he recognized the end of the song. He screwed his eyes shut, anticipating the loud finale, but it did not come. The song dwindled into a quiet major chord, held for several seconds, before dissipating into the mist. Raoul smiled, waiting for the Phantom to rise from his bench.

The Phantom turned around, starting slightly when he saw Raoul. Raoul tried to speak, but his throat was so raw that all that emerged was a pitiful croak. The Phantom rushed forward, but with none of the earlier malice.

“Please, Raoul, you must rest.” Raoul shook his head, staring stubbornly into the Phantom’s eyes, which glowed softly with a pale yellow light. It evoked memories of the summer sun shining down on the sea. He raised his hand, once again running it across the Phantom’s deformed face. The Phantom made a small noise, leaning into the touch slightly before pulling away. “Really, you must rest. Come.”

He put an arm around Raoul’s shoulders, patiently helping him back to the bed. Raoul lay in it, still staring at the Phantom’s eyes. He tried again to speak, but his mangled throat betrayed him. He frowned, then made a motion with his hands that suggested writing. The Phantom fetched a quill, ink, and parchment, setting it on the bedside table. 

Raoul sat up, writing something very slowly, The Phantom tried to catch a glimpse of what it could be, but Raoul’s head obscured most of it. After he had finished, Raoul rose slowly, holding a hand to his side, and handed the paper to the Phantom.

The Phantom took it, scanning it quickly. After a few moments, he let the paper flutter to the ground, lips slightly parted. He looked at Raoul, who was massaging his throat. Before he could stop himself, the Phantom of the Opera kissed the Vicomte’s cheek before dropping the black curtain around the bed and sweeping away.

Raoul smiled, touching his cheek, before retrieving the fallen paper. He was quite proud of his penmanship, but he wished he could have given the Phantom his message verbally. Somehow, the phrase;  _ you are beautiful _ did not sound as sincere when it was simply words on a page.


End file.
